


addicted

by clairelutra (exosolarmoon), sharpshooting



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drunk Dancing, Drunken Kissing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 15:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/pseuds/clairelutra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharpshooting/pseuds/sharpshooting
Summary: i might be addicted to how you always get the best of meKeith blinked once, twice at the beaming grin focused on him (on… him?), then found his elbow in Lance grasp, jerked in the direction of the improvised dance floor.“C’moooon, stop being such a downer,” Lance was saying (cheering? shouting? Keith’s heart was pounding too hard to focus), pulling Keith into his orbit with a weight like gravity. “Man, I leave you alone fortwo minutesand you’resulking—where’s that good oldparty spirit?”





	addicted

**Author's Note:**

> the song ("addicted" by morgan page) gave me emotions and i had to get the emotions out and also i found [this artist](http://214b.tumblr.com/tagged/my+art) and the art was giving me MORE emotions so really this is just venting, but, like, happy venting
> 
> i have no idea what the quality of this is and pppppossibly do not care

Keith would like it on record that he didn’t hate Lance—he actually liked Lance a lot. Lance was cheerful and stalwart and goofy, and Keith _appreciated_ that, really and truly… though, admittedly, it was a lot easier to remember that he liked Lance when Lance wasn’t in his face, trying to pick a fight.

Tonight was one of those times.

The room was alight with a golden glow that came from what looked like _literal fairies_ , the energy orbs pulsing slightly as they floated around the room, and the drinks were flowing freely—a traditional festivity drink the natives called _klah_. 

While the natives seemed to react to it as a mild stimulant, Keith suspected that the humans were processing it as something closer to alcohol. It could have just been the atmosphere, but everything just seemed a little _too_ fuzzy and light for it to be a coincidence. Even Shiro was sprawled out over one of the couches, chucking at the story the tribe chief was illustrating for him.

Lance was spinning with Pidge while Hunk cheered them on, carefree and proudly, unflinchingly _happy_ in that way Keith had always envied in him, the slash of his mouth as magnetically inviting as the loud laughter he lit the room with.

Inviting, but Keith had never quite known what to do with that invitation. Just _existing_ seemed to piss Lance off at the most awkward, incomprehensible times, so Keith was left to slump against the wall and long.

For what? He wasn’t quite sure.

At any rate, he wasn’t left to it. Lance and Pidge spun apart, the tiny green paladin landing in Hunk’s arms and getting lifted clear off the ground, and Lance…

Lance spun right up to Keith.

Keith blinked once, twice at the beaming grin focused on him (on… him?), then found his elbow in Lance grasp, jerked in the direction of the improvised dance floor.

“C’moooon, stop being such a downer,” Lance was saying (cheering? shouting? Keith’s heart was pounding too hard to focus), pulling Keith into his orbit with a weight like gravity. “Man, I leave you alone for _two minutes_ and you’re _sulking_ —where’s that good old _party spirit?”_

“Party what?” Keith had to ask, his senses slow and addled—and found himself thumping chest-to-chest into Lance.

He, Lance, smelled soft, like warm cologne and musky sweat, and Keith’s pounding heart tripped over its feet, frazzled and gratified and a little bit terrified.

“Man, I can’t take you _anywhere_ ,” Lance was sighing, but one hand was guiding Keith’s around a set of bony hips, the other resting on Keith’s shoulder, his gestures directly at odds with his words. “You gotta _dance_ , dude.”

“What?” Keith tried again, but his protests that he didn’t know _how_ were overrun by Lance taking the choice out of his hands—quite abruptly, Keith found himself swung around like Pidge had been before, and his feet had to _move_ or he was going to go down.

“That’s it!” Lance’s approval fell on deaf ears—Keith was too busy trying to survive this new position to properly appreciate it. “One and _two_ and one and _two…”_

It took a bit, but by the time the music changed sets, Keith almost had the hang of it, the klah loosening his joints and making it easier to laugh along when he or Lance made the both of them stumble.

The next set was easier, and the set after that too. By the middle of it, Keith was sore and light and giddy, stepping on Lance’s toes half the time and his own the other half, Lance’s breath puffing against the crook of his neck and Lance’s fingers digging into his clothing and Lance’s touch-laughter-smile-scent buried in all of Keith senses.

The third set ended on a crescendo, and maybe it was the atmosphere or maybe it was the lights, or maybe it was Lance’s nails scraping the nape of his neck and reeling him in, but their dance ended with a kiss.

It tasted a little like klah and a little like mouth and a little like _paradise_ , and Keith stumbled back, winded and gutted and alight, only to find that they weren’t the only people in the room.

Funny, Keith thought with goosebumps on his arms and too many butterflies in his stomach, Lance had had him fooled for a minute there.

Not that anyone had particularly noticed; there was a little girl clapping her hands in delight, and a few older couples glancing at them and smiling fondly, but mostly… mostly everyone was minding their own business. And Lance…

Lance looked like someone had upended his world.

Which was a little unfair. It was _Keith’s_ world that had been upended; where did _Lance_ get off looking like that?

Lance raised one unsteady finger. “W-w-we… we will _never_ t-talk about this again.”

Keith gulped, futilely trying to ease the pressure in his throat, chest, gut, and covered his tingling mouth, looking away on a jerky nod because he didn’t know what else _to_ do.

“Right,” said Lance, his voice cracking. “Good.”

Keith nodded again. His face was burning— _all_ of him was burning, actually.

“Hey, guys!” Pidge yelled from somewhere across the room. “Allura’s here!”

Lance, for once, didn’t turn immediately turn to find the princess, seemingly fixed on Keith, his expression unreadable.

An eternal moment later, he turned, so slowly it looked like a VHS set at the wrong speed, and stumbled away to join the others, and the moment was broken.

Keith stood there and tried (failed) to catch his breath.

He was no expert, but he didn’t think ‘liking Lance a lot’ quite covered… _this_.


End file.
